The swarthy man, with eyes that snapped back and forward on a rubber band from the rear of his head, answered to the alias¹ of Dick Dale. The tall, spectacled man who was put together like a camel without a hump — and you missed the hump — answered to the name of E. Brunswick Hudson. The scene was a shoeshine stand, insignificant² unit of the great studio. We perceive it through the red-rimmed eyes of Pat Hobby who sat in the chair beside Director Dale.

The stand was out of doors, opposite the commissary. The voice of E. Brunswick Hudson quivered with passion but it was pitched low so as not to reach passers-by.

‘I don’t know what a writer like me is doing out here anyhow,’ he said, with vibrations³.

Pat Hobby, who was an old-timer, could have supplied the answer, but he had not the acquaintance of the other two.

‘It’s a funny business,’ said Dick Dale, and to the shoe-shine boy, ‘Use that saddle soap.’

‘Funny!’ thundered E., ‘It’s suspect! Here against my better judgement I write just what you tell me — and the office tells me to get out because we can’t seem to agree.’

‘That’s polite,’ explained Dick Dale. ‘What do you want me to do — knock you down?’

E. Brunswick Hudson removed his glasses.

‘Try it!’ he suggested. ‘I weigh a hundred and sixty-two and I haven’t got an ounce of flesh on me.’ He hesitated and redeemed⁴ himself from this extremity⁵. ‘I mean fat on me.’

‘Oh, to hell with that!’ said Dick Dale contemptuously, ‘I can’t mix it up with you. I got to figure this picture. You go back East and write one of your books and forget it.’ Momentarily he looked at Pat Hobby, smiling as if he would understand, as if anyone would understand except E. Brunswick Hudson. ‘I can’t tell you all about pictures in three weeks.’

Hudson replaced his spectacles.

‘When I do write a book,’ he said, ‘I’ll make you the laughing stock of the nation.’

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